


A Tale of Two Keys

by brudawgg



Series: This Was Ineffable [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn With Plot, Power Bottom Crowley, also very mild violence. Like so mild I don't even know it's worth mentioning, because god herself can't stop me, bit of a praise kink, i like big powerful beings stressing over silly domestic things, im a wuss when it comes to violence so trust me it's not graphic at all, they're gay and dumb and I love these boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 19:57:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19302760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brudawgg/pseuds/brudawgg
Summary: When Crowley decides to give Aziraphale a spare key to his flat he never thought it could go so horribly wrong. He definitely didn't think it would lead to a rescue mission of all things.





	A Tale of Two Keys

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't stop thinking about Crowley realizing him and Aziraphale never exchanged keys and then what would maybe happen if that all happened and then I sort of ran with that idea and now here we are.  
> I just really love writing for these two fools.  
> Hope y'all like it!  
> (If you haven't read the part 1 of this 'series' you shouldn't be too confused, there's only really two mentions of that fic in this one! Also to everyone who left such sweet comments on the first fic thank you it literally means the world to me and fueled me through this one)

It was strange to think that this was all because of a single key.

The two had never really discussed keys. This was probably due to the fact that Aziraphale rarely even went to Crowley’s flat unless absolutely necessary since he seemed to use his flat as a sulking grounds and place to rest. And on the reverse side, Crowley rarely went to Aziraphales if the man wasn’t there. Besides, he could just miracle the doors open if he really wanted. Aziraphale was far too polite to do such a thing, but technically he could do the same if necessary.

So keys were never really discussed.

But things were different now. The two had gotten even closer after Doomsday— which they didn’t think was possible if they were being honest — and they’d gotten especially closer after ‘ _The Nightmare Incident_ ’ as Aziraphale liked to call it. ‘ _I love yous_ ’ we’re only sprinkled here and there though. Crowley used them sparingly because, well, he was still a demon after all and, as he’d said time and time again, demons weren’t nice. And love seemed far too nice. So after his initial admission to that particular four letter word he stuck to whispering them in moments of passion and extreme intimacy.

Aziraphale on the other hand simply got flustered a little too easily. Sure, he was a being essentially made of love so naturally he saw no problem with it, and he certainly saw no problem with loving Crowley, the demon who put up a tough front but when push came to shove always came through for the angel (and humanity). If anyone on this planet deserved Aziraphale’s love, he knew it was Crowley. But every time he tried to say it casually he’d just turn red and stumble over his words, much to the demons amusement.

So, like Crowley, Aziraphale also stuck to saying it during moments of extreme intimacy as well. It was much easier to do it in the spur of the moment anyway.

Back to the keys, though.

It was after one of these intimate moments that Crowley had begun thinking about their relationship, how it had changed, and what that all meant. It was also one of the rare times they were back at Crowley’s flat, which was actually not becoming so rare now that he thought about it. He _did_ have the better bed, after all. Aziraphale wasn’t too prideful to admit that. Crowley loved sleep, so it only made sense that his bed was the superior one.

Crowley had been laying in said bed with one arm underneath his head as he gazed upwards at the ceiling, the other loosely wrapped around his angel as he absentmindedly traced small circles over his skin, when the idea of keys struck him. Aziraphale’s head was resting on his demons shoulder, his breaths evening out as the adrenaline left him from ‘making love’.

(Aziraphale insisted on calling it that, which always earned an eye roll from Crowley. But that was classic Aziraphale.)

Anyway, as he lay there listening to Aziraphale’s gentle breathing he remembered reading somewhere in a magazine that when couples were ready to ‘Take The Next Big Step’, so to speak, most would show their commitment by giving each other a spare key to their respective places. It was supposed to be a sign of trust, and Crowley figured after 6,000 years that a spare key seemed more than fair.

“Right then,” he said quietly to himself, “I’ll do _that_.”

“Hm?” Aziraphale murmured, “Did you say something?” He lifted his head to peer up at the other man.

“You’re imagining things, angel, hush.” Crowley said quickly. He used his free hand to gently push the angels head back to its original position, running a hand through his curls to distract him. He wanted to surprise him with the key since he’d also read in a magazine that surprises were good for a relationship as well.

It didn’t seem to cross his mind that these were separate articles, but that wasn’t his main concern.

Aziraphale cast a suspicious look towards Crowley, but ultimately decided to let it go. It did feel rather nice to have those long fingers running through his hair.

When things would later go spectacularly wrong, Crowley would remember this moment with disdain.

 

—

 

It was a lovely afternoon the next day, and the angel and demon were seated at the park; Aziraphale people watching as Crowley pretended to watch the ducks, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in his chest. It was rather silly. As he had pointed out to himself a million times already, the two had known each other for literal centuries. A spare key was the _least_ he could do. They’d swapped bodies for Satan's sake, why was _this_ so nerve wracking?

Aziraphale noticed Crowley clenching his fists, one of the telltale signs that anxiety was currently coursing through his veins. He also wasn’t lounging in his typical, nonchalant manner. Instead he was hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, staring straight ahead with his jaw clenched. To say he looked nervous was an understatement.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, eyebrows furrowed as he waited for a response. After receiving no sign that the man had even heard him, he leaned forward to wave his hand in front of the man’s face. “Crow _ley_? Hel _lo_?”

Crowley jerked back reflexively, having been shaken out of his thoughts.

“Wh-what? What is it?” He asked, doing his best to resume his normal demeanor. This only served to make him look _more_ nervous though, his arms resting on the back of the bench looked stiff and awkward as opposed to his regular loose, snake-like self.

“Is everything alright? You’re acting...peculiar.”

“I’m acting fine,” Crowley snapped defensively, “Maybe _you’re_ the one acting peculiar, ever stop to consider that, angel?”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows at that.

“Would you care to try that again, my dear?” He asked with a patience only he could possibly retain.

The demon snarled, more to himself than the angel next to him, as he ran an aggravated hand through his hair. He had planned on giving the key to the angel over a spot of lunch, not sitting on a park bench surrounded by a bunch of ducks. Although perhaps that was more fitting for the two of them. They’d had a lot of important discussions around ducks, now that he thought about it.

Aziraphale waited patiently as he watched Crowley work through...whatever it was he was working through. Sometimes Crowley just needed to sort his own thoughts out without any commentary. Sometimes Aziraphale had to drag it out of him. He liked to give the demon some time before doing that though.

“Okay. Okayokayokay,” Crowley slapped a hand on his knee, dragging the other hand down his face. “O _kay_.”

Aziraphale continued to watch Crowley as his face went through a myriad of emotions before finally landing on something akin to acceptance. For what, Aziraphale wasn’t sure. His doom, maybe.

“Oh- _kay_!” He said again, nodding to himself.

It was like watching someone give a strange pep talk that only consisted of a single word to themselves.

And then, seemingly before his nerves got the better of him again, Crowley reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a small jagged metal object, thrusting it forward into Aziraphale’s face before he could make out what it was. Aziraphale leaned back slightly, blinking a bit to take in the details of what Crowley was showing him.

“It’s...a key.” Aziraphale said once he realized what it was, unsure of the implications of it.

“Yes, yes, very good, angel. Take it.”

Aziraphale was somehow more confused than he had been before Crowley said anything.

“What is it _for_?”

Crowley lowered the key, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “You know what keys are for, angel, they’re for unlocking things! Now stop acting like a _fool_ ,” he thrust the key forward again, “and _take it_.”

“I know what _keys_ are for, Crowley, but what is _this_ key for?” Aziraphale looked at the key with a baffled expression on his face, leaning slightly farther away from the key as if it was a weapon. “Does it unlock some chest that contains a _second_ Antichrist, because if so I’m going to be very upset. One Doomsday was enough for me, thank you very much.”

“Second Antichri— Angel, it’s _my_ job to be difficult, not yours! Just take the key!” He held it out closer to the angel, “You're ruining the moment!”

“ _What moment?!_ ”

Crowley snarled again, this time not at himself, but very much so at the angel. If they had been at a table he could have slid the key over and it would have been very smooth, it would have been Top Tier Romance quite frankly, but instead it was going like _this_. Disastrous and ridiculous, which seemed to be the running theme of their relationship.

So instead of a suave slide across the table, Crowley had to settle on an aggravated snatch of the wrist as he yanked Aziraphale’s hand out and slapped the key into his palm.

“The moment where I try to give you a key to my stupid flat, you _bastard_.”

Aziraphale had initially jumped at the sudden aggression, but paused at Crowley’s words. He regarded the key silently for a moment before looking up at the demon, eyebrows lightly furrowed as he tried to parse together what was going on. Crowley looked flustered, fingers drumming anxiously on his knee.

“The key to your flat? Heavens, Crowley, why would I need this?”

Crowley groaned with a roll of his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck absentmindedly, one hand still anxiously drumming away in his knee. “So you can use it? To get in? Christ, angel, I don’t know. It’s what the bloody humans do to...I dunno, symbolize trust or something?” He shook his head then. “You know what? You’re right. Forget it. Give it back, it’s stupid.”

Crowley held his hand out for the key, finally looking over at Aziraphale, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of his face. The angels lips were slightly parted in a small, slightly shocked smile as he slowly closed his fist around the tiny-yet-oh-so-big Symbol of Trust and held it to his heart. His eyes were lit up with joy and the demon was caught between a feeling of endearment towards his beautiful angel and embarrassment at his gift.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, “that’s...that’s so ni—“

“ _Don't_ say that.” Crowley groaned, “Seriously, anything but _that_.”

Aziraphale leaned forward, taking Crowley's hand in his, still holding the key to his chest with the other, as he pressed a light kiss to the demons lips.

“Fine,” He murmured against his lips, “Then it’s very sweet.”

Crowley groaned again, “That’s somehow _worse_.” But the small smile on his face betrayed his words and he let the angel kiss him a second time before standing up off the bench.

“Where are you going?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale merely tugged tugged him to his feet in response.“I guess where are we going? Ready for a spot of lunch, angel?”

Aziraphale chuckled and held the key up to Crowley with a fairly mischievous (far too mischievous for an angel) smile on his face before leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“Maybe later. I thought maybe I could tempt you to go try out the new key first.”

“You don’t believe it _works_ , angel? I swear it's to my fla— oh.” Crowley flashed a grin, “Oh, _I see_.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and led his (foolish, ridiculous, perfect) demon away from the park bench.

This would be the second moment that Crowley would recall later as he kicked himself for his foolishness.

 

—

 

It was about a week after Crowley had given Aziraphale the key that the angel realized, in absolute horror, that he hadn’t given Crowley his own spare key. Granted, he had absolutely shown how grateful he was and, unlike Aziraphale, Crowley would miracle a door open without a second thought, but he began to worry that maybe the demon would think he didn't trust him back. He was worried this would be another instance of the demon once again being more emotionally available than the angel, which was the exact opposite of what he wanted to convey.

Aziraphale trusted Crowley with his life. That had been made clear time and time again, but he felt like the key _meant_ something more.

So, being the sentimental man he was, Aziraphale decided he would give Crowley his own key to the bookshop. He needed him to know that they were on the same page, emotionally speaking.

This was how he found himself making his way towards Crowley's flat on a fairly sunny afternoon. He was a tad surprised that he hadn't heard from Crowley that day since he had left earlier in the morning, saying he had some unspoken errand to run. He figured he could check his flat, and if he wasn't there he could perhaps settle in until he turned up. Aziraphale figured no matter where he was, Crowley would find him. He always did.

Also, he couldn't lie, he loved finding any excuse to use the key. It made him feel special, being let into Crowley's safe haven in such a way.

Aziraphale slid the key into the lock, opened the door, and took a step inside.

“Crowle–”

Before he could finish calling out, Aziraphale was knocked to the ground with a sickening crack by a quick blow to the back of his head. He fell to the floor, dizzy and confused as a bag of sorts was thrown over his head.

The world began to fade to black as he heard one voice demand _hurry up, hurry up, there's no time_ as he felt himself dragged upward by a rough pair of hands.

He supposed they hadn’t expected an angel to walk in, had they? The demons of Hell would never expect the dreaded, traitorous demon Crowley to give an _angel_ the key to his apartment, his safe space away from the world.

Maybe that's why they didn’t think to double check before slipping back away to Hell with the angel in tow.

 

—

 

Whenever the angel Aziraphale was in dire trouble, the demon Crowley typically came running (or hopping in the case of a certain consecrated ground). No one, especially the angel, was especially sure as to why that was. If pressed, he probably would have guessed that Crowley had just been keeping excellent tabs on him through an intricate system of spies throughout the years. It certainly seemed plausible. And in some cases that was true. Crowley had absolutely used the occasional human to fill him in on the angels whereabouts and business, but when it came to real, sudden danger?

It was more than just a few measly human spies.

When Aziraphale was in _true_ danger, danger that could happen in the literal blink of an eye, alarm bells went off. Not real alarm bells, of course, but to Crowley they may as well have been. An intense feeling would usually travel up his spine and his hair would stand on end. The air itself would taste different and to Crowley it would feel like the world was shifting. Everything would just feel _wrong_.

And this is what Crowley felt as he climbed into his car that fairly sunny afternoon, placing a box of fresh pastries next to the bottle of wine he had purchased earlier. He had been, naturally, grabbing all of this for a certain angel, wanting to surprise him. If Aziraphale ever tried to tell Crowley how thoughtful he was, the demon would have hissed and thrown a fit. And Aziraphale had tried many times.

He had almost dropped the pastry box when the alarm bells sounded, his head whipping around to look out the windshield of his treasured car.

“Aziraphale,” he breathed, not bothering to throw on a seatbelt as he peeled out of his parking spot. He barely registered the cars honking at him as he sped down the streets of London, knuckles going stark white as he gripped the steering wheel. It was the same feeling he got when Aziraphale was minutes away from execution, or even seconds away from having a bullet put in his head. And there would be no new body for him if he perished now.

Crowley slammed his foot down, driving as fast as the road and his car would let him go.

When he screeched to a halt outside of his flat, he only slightly registered where he was. That was the other thing about these metaphorical alarms. It wasn't as if he got an explicit message scrolling across for him to read with directions attached.

_Executioner, in France, with a guillotine._

_Nazis, on consecrated ground, with a gun._

Nothing like that. It was just instinct, pure and simple. His sense would be set ablaze, and then the next thing he knew he’d be in his Bentley, racing down the road to wherever his angel may be.

He raced up to his flat, pastries and wine bottle long forgotten in the passenger seat. Crowley had been ready to snap his fingers to swing his flat door open, but when he ran up he saw it was in fact already slightly ajar.

“ _Aziraphale_!” He hollered, slamming the door open with his shoulder. He stumbled into the doorway, eyes darting wildly around the room as he called desperately again for his friend. “ _Aziraphale_ , I'm not kidding around, _where are you?!_ ”

Crowley could feel that same feeling he felt the first time he thought he'd lost the angel, could feel the anxiety setting in. His chest felt tight, but he pushed those feelings down and tried to focus.

It didn't take long for the scent to reach him.

First of all, when Aziraphale had been somewhere recently, he left behind...love. As ridiculous as that sounded, that was how Crowley viewed it, not that he’d ever admit that out loud. Light, love, and occasionally the decadent scent of wildflowers and pastries were left in his angels wake.

On the reverse side, the demons of Hell left behind sulfur, sin, and grime. And _Hastur_ left behind even more of a foul stench. It filled his nose, almost overpowering Aziraphales own heavenly scent.

That foul, pathetic excuse of a demon had somehow been in Crowley's home. And if Crowley was reading the warning right, he had been near Aziraphale. _His_ Aziraphale.

Crowley clenched his fist, his breathing ragged as he attempted to calm himself. He knew they had come for him, why else would they have been here? They didn't care about Aziraphale, the angel was Upstairs problem just like Crowley was Downstairs problem. And the only reason Aziraphale had been here in the first place was because he had a way to unlock the flat door and walk in as if this was his home as well (which it was, of course it was, but right now that wasn't the point).

And it was all because of that _fucking_ key.

 

—

 

Aziraphale was confused when he awoke on the floor of a dark, damp cell. This seemed fair considering the fact that he rarely woke up anywhere, much less in a cell. It vaguely reminded him of France all those years ago, except worse somehow. At least in that dungeon he’d been given a place to sit. The walls were cracked and covered in mold and the air was thick with the smell of sulfur, death, and disease. It took the angel a moment to get his bearings but he soon realized where he was.

This was, without a doubt, Hell.

What he was doing there he still wasn’t so sure. He was a bit disoriented and could feel a headache blooming in the back of his skull and it made thinking harder than it should have been.

‘ _Ah yes, that’s probably from when I got hit._ ’ He thought to himself, and then properly recalled the events leading him there.

Crowley’s flat. A key in the door. Strange voices. And then pain and darkness.

He attempted to reach up to soothe his aching head but was met with resistance and an intense burning sensation in his wrists. He gasped, biting back a scream, as he realized that his hands were tied, quite uncomfortably, behind his back by thick chains that felt like fire. Why they burned he wasn’t entirely certain, but it hurt like the Devil.

As he attempted to remain calm, since panicking certainly wasn’t going to help, he began to hear voices approaching.

“I ask you to do one simple thing,” one voice snapped, anger seeping through his words, “ _One thing._ Capture the traitor and _bring him here_ , and what do you do?”

“Well, Duke, you were there to–” This voice never finished its sentence, instead cut short by the sound of a panicked yelp and a fizzle.

Another voice spoke up, clearly hesitant, “W-We brought back an ange-“

“You brought back a _fucking angel_!” This time the first voice was accompanied by an aggravated scream and then quickly followed by the sound of someone being slammed against the wall as they screeched in pain before slowly fizzling out much like the other voice had done.

When they approached the jail cell finally, the first voice was alone, shaking what looked like ash and muck off his hand with a small frown. To Aziraphale he looked like a rather disgusting man, although a lot of the demons in Hell seemed to look that way. He had deep black eyes and atop his head was what looked like a frog. Aziraphale recognized him as Hastur, one of the demons that had bothered Crowley quite a lot through the years. He had also been at the 'trial', and had been extremely rude, if memory served.

“I suppose that made me feel a little bit better,” he said with a sigh and a final shake of his hand. He then turned his attention to the angel before him. “Ah, good, so you’re awake.”

Aziraphale stayed silent as he pieced together what had happened. They had been trying to capture _Crowley_. Of course. And like a fool he had wandered into their trap, he seemed to be very adept at doing that. He shifted to a sitting position finally, wincing at the burning feeling that shot through his wrists as he did so.

“Ah, I’d be more mindful if I were you,” Hastur said with a wheezing laugh at the obvious pain and discomfort on Aziraphale’s face. “We may have messed this up a bit, but I’m quick on my feet. You’re bound by chains forged in Hellfire. So go ahead and try to escape, you stupid Angel, but it won't work.”

When he called him an angel, the word sounded like it tasted disgusting in his mouth, venom practically dripping off each letter. When Crowley said it the word always sounded so endearing and gentle, even in the early days when they were still truly getting to know one another.

“Now, the real question is,” Hastur leaned his arm against the jail cell bars, resting his head on the arm as he narrowed his eyes at Aziraphale. “What to do with you?”

 

—

 

Crowley allowed himself thirty seconds to essentially lose his temper and no more. When he thought back to deciding to give his angel the key and then to the park where he slapped it into his hand, he wanted to kick himself. He let out aggravated screams and hurled objects, kicking a chair so hard it crashed into the wall. The plants around him shook with fear, terrified he might direct his anger at them next. And they had been trying so _hard_ to grow better.

But thirty seconds ticked by before Crowley had a chance to turn his gaze to the plants, and truth be told he didn't want to take it out on them. He wanted to take it out on either himself or the monster who did this. He stood amidst the chaos of the living room, panting heavily, trying to calm himself. It was time for a plan, and he needed to think of one quick.

Before he could think of anything outside of A) Going down to Hell and B) Ripping Hastur to pieces, he heard his flat screen in the other room flicker to life.

“Alright, _Crowley_ , where in the Heaven are you?”

Crowley quickly regained his composure before entering the room he often used for proper sulking. On the screen was Hastur, looking mildly agitated and as disgusting as ever.

Biting back any words that might give him away, Crowley threw his arms out, forcing a smile on his face.

“Hastur! Long time no see!”

“Enough with the bullshit, Crowley. We have the angel and if you want to see him again, I suggest you turn yourself in.”

Crowley feigned confusion, raising his eyebrows at the vile duke. It wouldn’t do to let him know he was aware they had Aziraphale, much less how much the angel meant to him. No, that wouldn't do at all.

“The angel? What angel, _exactly_? Is it Michael, cause between you and me, old friend,” Crowley lowered his voice to a mock whisper, “that one's a bit of a wanker.”

“No, not Michael, you idiot! You know who I’m talking about! It was the blasted angel that helped you divert Armageddon, the great war!”

Crowley opened his mouth in an silent ‘ _ah!_ ’ as if it was finally dawning on him. “Yes, yes of course. The blonde lad. Azuraphil, right?”

“ _Aziraphale_!”

“Right, right, Azeerafull.” Crowley nodded, “He was alright I suppose, not sure what you think I’d want him for though.”

Hastur was glaring daggers at him. He looked as if he wanted to choke Crowley out. The snake had always been very adept at getting under his skin

“Do _not_ play dumb with me, Crowley. He was in your ridiculous home.”

“Who’s playing? Sure, me and the angel briefly banded together. Not my fault he enjoyed hanging about this place as much as me. A common goal brought us together for forty eight hours and then we went our separate ways. Sorry to burst your bubble.” Crowley, to his credit, was doing great at playing nonchalant. His arms were crossed and his hip was stuck out as if the conversation was a bore. Luckily Hastur couldn’t see his fists, right with anxiety, and seemed unable to pick up on his clenched jaw. “As for him being in my apartment, I definitely don’t know what was up with that. Perhaps he was on his way to off me too? Loose ends and all that.”

Hastur was frowning at Crowley as he spoke. Once he was done he let a few seconds pass before smirking at the snake.

“So you won’t mind if we go ahead and light him up then? Always wanted to watch an Angel burn in the Hellfire myself.”

Crowley took an even breath, “I don’t see why I’d give a damn.” He forced this out through gritted teeth. This was not good, not good at all. He’d been banking on Hastur just releasing Aziraphale if he played it cool enough. “Although don’t you think upstairs might be pissed off if you go running around setting their Angels ablaze?”

Hastur gave Crowley a sickening smile, “I don’t think they’ll care much if I rid them of their own traitor, do you? The might even send a thank you note.” He followed this terrifying statement up with a wheezy laugh.

Before Crowley could properly respond, the tv shut off and Hastur was gone.

“Fuck,” Crowley breathed, “fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ ” He snatched up a small statue he’d once stolen from some century — he couldn’t remember when or where and truly didn’t care — and hurled it at the flat screen. It shattered, pieces flying about the room as Crowley tried to calm himself. The alarm bells were still blaring in his head, and the world felt like it was upside down.

He didn’t have much time.

 

—

 

The cell got worse the longer Aziraphale was in it. He missed his bookshop and Crowley and even Crowley’s far-too-modern flat. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized it would be best if he didn’t see any of it again. Because, if he did get to see it all again, he feared it would be at the cost of his demons life. Crowley had a tendency to rush in head first when Aziraphale found himself in these situations. For Heaven's sake, the man had hippity hopped his way over consecrated ground for him. It wouldn’t surprise him to see the fool walk straight into Hell, a place full of demons who were probably waiting to rip him apart, just to get the angel out of this particular mess.

And Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to live with himself if that happened. Earth was great but it wouldn’t mean half as much without Crowley by his side.

Hastur had demanded to know just what Aziraphale had been doing in Crowley’s flat, and the angel had played confused and dumb. He insisted he had just been lost, and it wasn't _his_ fault they didn't think to check before dragging him back to Hell. Even when Hastur took his boot to Aziraphale’s face, he refused to say a helpful word as blood trickled down. If the vile creature knew anything about him and his beloved demons relationship, he was sure they would use it against Crowley, dangling Aziraphale in danger in front of the demon like a carrot on a stick.

No, Aziraphale had decided he would rather either die or live out the rest of eternity in the disgusting prison. Crowley had been through enough, he deserved some sort of life. And he had rescued Aziraphale so many times now.

Of course Aziraphale _knew_ that if he actually died Crowley would probably be a mess for at least a century. He wasn't a fool, he knew the demon loved him. But he had tried to miracle the Hellfire forged chains off and that had only been met with more burning that hurt worse than when he simply fidgeted in the chains. It seemed he was trapped in the cell for good unless he could devise another plan.

So, Aziraphale lay on the ground, hands securely tied behind his back, accepting his fate with a fair amount of dignity. If Crowley was safe, he could accept his demise.

He shut his eyes when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching again. Perhaps, if he feigned sleep, Hastur would come back later?

Or he would kick him awake. Both options seemed highly plausible.

When Aziraphale heard the cell door swing open, he let out a shaky sigh and cracked his eyes open, not in the mood for another foot to the face.

But what he saw wasn’t a grimy pair of shoe, but fairly stylish snake skin boots in the doorway of the cell. Slight hope welled up in his chest as he looked up slowly, wondering if what he was seeing was his imagination.

But it wasn’t his imagination.

It was Crowley, his wonderful, stubborn Crowley. And he was staring down at him, lips parted slightly, taking in the sight of his angel in such a wretched state. Aziraphale's lip was cut, a thin stream of blood down his chin. He also had blood caked on the side of his face leading from his forehead to his temple, and a large bruise on his right cheek. His left eye was black and Crowley noticed that at the slightest movement a look of pain would flash across the angels face.

“Angel,” he breathed as he stumbled forward, falling to his knees next to him. “Aziraphale, I’m so sorry.” His voice grew cold as he stroked a hand down his angels cheek, careful to avoid any bruises, “I’ll rip the fucker apart, I swear.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale tried to keep it together, but couldn’t stop his voice from breaking. He was happy to see his demon, but also terrified for him. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Shut up, don’t be ridiculous.” Crowley gently helped Aziraphale to a sitting position, wincing when the angel hissed in pain. He circled around to look at the chains. “Did you really think I’d let them do this? Give me some credit, angel.”

“I _knew_ you wouldn’t let them, my dear, but I’m fairly certain that everyone down here would love to see you dead. A–And I _tried_ to escape, Crowley, truly. But these darn chains—“

“Forged in Hellfire, yeah. I'll give this to ‘em, that's one surefire way to keep an Angel captive.”

Crowley snapped his fingers then and Aziraphale felt the chains vanish along with the burning pain and he almost sobbed out of relief, but managed to cut it back to a relieved gasp. He turned to face Crowley then, pressing his forehead into Crowley’s shoulder, hands clutching his coat, as a shuddering breath escaped him.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he whispered.

Crowley wrapped his arms around his angel, lightly kissing the top of his head, “No, _I’m_ sorry. I should have known better than to be so careless.”

“That’s ridiculous, Crowley. For Heaven's sake, I’m the one who got kidnapped.”

Crowley looked down at Aziraphale, hating the sight of him looking so hurt and beat up. He wanted to miracle away all of the pain, but first they had to get out of there.

“How about we argue about whose fault it is later, yeah?” He said softly, running a soothing hand through the angels blonde curls. He smiled at him. It was a sad smile but a relieved one as well.

“This is rather sweet, I'll give you that.” Said a familiar voice from behind them.

Crowley's head snapped up, an angry snarl stretching across his face as he stood up, stepping in front of the angel as if he was a shield. Aziraphale whipped around, also climbing to his feet (although a touch slower than Crowley, due to the pain), peering over the demons shoulder at Hastur who had at some unknown point appeared in the doorway.

“Hastur,” Crowley said, hatred dripping from his voice.

“You know, I had a feeling you'd show up. You always were such a _softie_ , Crowley.”

Crowley lunged forward then, but Hastur was a tad bit quicker, slamming the jail cell bars shut. He laughed as Crowley slammed into the bars and bounced back, shaking his head. Aziraphale took a step forward, whispering out Crowley's name in a worried tone but stilled when Crowley held his hand up motioning for Aziraphale to wait. Cracking his neck, Crowley took another step back, and then launched forward again.

But this time his form shifted into a snake as he flew through the bars straight into Hasturs face.

Duke Hastur let out a fairly undignified shriek, stumbling backwards as he threw up an arm to block his face. He hadn't been expecting _that_. He howled in pain as Crowley clamped his jaws down on his arm and blindly reached for the snake with his free hand.

“You _bastard_!” He screeched, ripping Crowley off of him and flinging him down the hall. Blackness oozed from the tear in his arm, and he held it in pain.

“Crowle–” Aziraphale began, running to the bars, but was caught off by the sight of Crowley shifting mid tumble into his human form. He rolled to his feet and launched for Hastur again. Hastur stumbled backwards again, but wasn't quick enough to avoid Crowley as he was grabbed by the throat and slammed into the wall. The angel watched as Crowley tightened his grip on Hasturs neck, pulling him forward and slamming him into the wall again. The demons head slammed against the wall with a satisfying crack as he screamed, panic visible in his black eyes.

“I don't know what made you think you could come into _my home,_ ” Crowley snarled, tightening his grip even more and lifting the wretched demon off the ground so his feet dangled helplessly, “and not only that, but you even dared to take _my angel._ You have made a grave error, Duke Hastur. You underestimate me and how willing I am to rip you apart. If I had holy water on me I would pour it straight down your pathetic throat, _do you understand me?_ ”

Hasturs screams had fizzled out into light squeaks by now as he attempted to nod, kicking his feet out as he struggled for air.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, glancing down the hall as best as he could from the cell, “We need to go.”

Crowley let the Duke struggle for a few more seconds before throwing him to the ground like a useless rag doll. The demon on the floor wheezed and twitched, but otherwise didn't move. He was either unconscious or too terrified to move, and neither the angel or Crowley knew or really seemed to care. Aziraphale stepped back as Crowley flung the cell door open and held his hand out. The angel took it, casting a sidelong glance at Hastur, and then back to Crowley who seemed to look a bit nervous now.

“I don't suppose you're going to tell me I should have been nicer to him.”

“Oh, darling, Heaven’s no. Just,” he shrugged, “I haven't exactly seen that side of you before. It was quite a sight.”

“Yes, well, usually I can just trick some other idiots into dropping bombs on the humans who come after you,” Crowley snorted, “Don't really have that option down here.”

Aziraphale smiled softly at the demon, wincing a bit as it strained the cut on his lip. Crowley frowned at this, but the angel squeezed his hand reassuringly.

“I'm fine, my dear. Let's go home.”

 

—

 

Escaping Hell with an angel was proving to be a tad bit more difficult than sneaking in unaccompanied. Crowley had tossed his own jacket over Aziraphale’s noticeable coat, hoping they would be a little less noticeable this way. As much as he hated seeing the bruised face, it helped them blend in a little bit.

It had been going fairly well with Crowley sure to pick the halls that were typically the least crowded until they took a wrong turn into a small group of demons.

It _had_ been awhile since he'd been down there.

“Hey, watch where you're going, jackass.” One of the demons in the group snapped. His face was half rotted away with disease, but he still managed to glare with his one good eye.

Before Crowley could snap back, the demon’s one eye widened in recognition.

“ _You're the traitor._ ”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered in a hushed tone, ducking behind him, “this isn’t good.”

“ _Leave it to me_ ,” Crowley hissed before splaying his arms out in a grand gesture to the other demons. “Traitor?” Crowley's eyebrows shot up, the theatrics were on. “Well, that is an A+ for you, fellow demon! You passed the test!”

The demon and the two others behind him furrowed their brows in confusion. Aziraphale did his best to stay hidden behind Crowley as the man did his best car salesman impersonation.

“Were running a new safety drill down here in the halls of Hell to keep all you hard workers on your toes, and you have done wonderfully! Don't you fret now, Lord Beelzebub will hear about this and I can _assure you_ that a promotion is on its way to _you_!”

“Lord Beelzebub will hear about _what_?” A strange buzzing voice asked from behind Crowley and Aziraphale.

Crowley squeaked as he spun around, throwing Aziraphale behind him so he was between Crowley and the wall. He came face to face with Beelzebub themself. They regarded the two with an annoyed expression.

“And just what,” their eyes narrowed in contempt, “in the Heaven are you doing here? And with a blasted angel, no less.” They glanced over at the three demons the two had run into and frowned, “You all, _scram_!”

The small group made themselves scarce immediately.

“Why thank you, m’lord–” Crowley began.

“Do _not_ thank me. I just don't need an audience. The last thing this place needs is a group of demons gossiping by the water cooler about a traitor roaming the halls. Do you know, can you even begin to grasp, how hard it was to get them back to work after _Armageddon itself_ was _canceled_?”

Crowley opened his mouth to answer but was cut short by Beelzebub. Apparently that had been a rhetorical question.

“Now, explain yourselves. I'm almost certain I told you not to return.”

“It's not like I _wanted_ to come here,” Crowley said, exasperated, “Maybe you should keep better tabs on your Dukes. I'll gladly keep to myself if you keep that toad face off my back.”

Beelzebub frowned at that. “Hastur did this? Why would he bring an angel here? Has he lost his mind?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Beelzebub considered the two of them as they weighed their options.

“I will see to it that Hastur is straightened out,” They said after a moment, but stepped forward, eyes narrowed at Crowley as they stared up at him. The Lord Beelzebub may have been smaller than most, but their presence was still fairly threatening if they wanted it to be. “But if I see you down here again I will send every single demon after you without a second thought. I have no patience left to give you, Traitor.”

“Absolutely, you got it, will do,” Crowley said, backing up. He snatched Aziraphale's arm and yanked him down the hall away from the buzzing noise of Beelzebub.

“Thanks much!” Aziraphale hollered behind them earning a quick _shut up shut UP_ from Crowley as they quickly made their exit.

 

—

 

Once they were back to Crowley's flat, Aziraphale collapsed on the couch. His injuries were catching up to him now that the adrenaline had worn off from the initial escape. He wanted to comment on the partially destroyed state of the flat, but couldn't find the energy. The angels head was throbbing and his wrists had two large red marks, still slightly burnt from the chains. Not to mention that every time he smiled, which he couldn't stop doing when he looked over at Crowley— his beloved demon who had once again saved him from certain death, the demon who filled his heart with love — his lips ached.

“Angel, don't move,” Crowley whispered softly, kneeling next to him on the floor. Aziraphale gazed at him from the couch. The demon looked worried and so tired.

“You got it, darling.”

To start, Crowley took his glasses off, setting them down on the coffee table behind him and turned his full attention to the angel. Aziraphale smiled softly at the demons eyes, ignoring the ache in his lips when he did so. He had always found them so beautiful. He understood why Crowley hid them from the world, but hated that he saw them so little. Although, it did make the moments he did get a chance to see them all the more precious though.

Crowley returned the soft smile, although his was a strained one, and carefully took Aziraphale's wrists in his hands, shutting his eyes. To Aziraphale's shock, he watched as Crowley wordlessly miracled the burns away with a slight grimace of effort. The demon gently rubbed the wrists once they were clean of any marks, opening his eyes to be sure they were fully healed. He then moved his hands up to the angels head where the blood was still caked on. Once he willed away the blood and pain he slid one hand to the bruise, healing that one as well. Finally, he turned his attention to the angels eye, touching it as carefully as possible. Crowley looked as if he was on the verge of tears now that he was getting a good look at the black eye. He took a deep breath and stroked gently as the black color faded away to purple and then to a light yellow and then finally, thankfully, back to Aziraphale's natural skin tone.

The only thing left was the cut lip.

Crowley stroked his thumb lightly over it and then leaned forward, gently sliding his hand so he was cupping the back of Aziraphale's neck to hold him still as he placed a soft kiss to the cracked lips. Aziraphale felt a slight tingle in his lips and sighed softly into the kiss. When Crowley pulled back his angels lips were healed and as beautiful as ever.

With each healing touch Aziraphale had felt pure love coursing through him, could feel Crowley's light seeping into him through his fingertips and lips, through his gentle touches and the soft pained look that had been clear in his eyes.

“That's better,” he murmured before placing a second kiss to his angels forehead, “There's my angel.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, “you _healed_.”

“Don't make a big deal out of it, I don't have the energy to argue with you calling me something stupid like nice right now.”

Aziraphale sat up, pulling Crowley into an embrace, his arms wrapped securely around his shoulders. The demon sighed and melted against his angel in response, pressing a small kiss to his neck.

“I love you so much,” Aziraphale whispered. He could feel Crowley smile against his skin as he let out a shaky breath.

“Can't believe I almost lost you again,” Crowley murmured, “I guess I never should have given you that stupid key, huh?”

He could tell that Crowley was trying to keep a light tone as he said, play it off as a joke, but he could still hear the regret in his voice. Aziraphale shook his head, only slightly perking up as he remembered the key in his own pocket.

“Okay, first of all, my dear,” Aziraphale said, holding Crowley back at arms length, “don't be absurd. You giving me that key...it meant so much to me, Crowley. Yes, that disgusting demon may have gotten the jump on me, but I refuse to let you blame yourself. And two,” the angel reached into his coat pocket, a genuine smile spreading across his freshly healed face, and presented the spare key he had gotten made for Crowley, “I had been coming to your flat to give this to you. So in a way it's my fault, if you really think about it.”

Crowley stared at the key, almost as dumbfounded as Aziraphale had been during the first key exchange before he broke out into a small smile.

Aziraphale loved that smile.

“Thank you, angel,” He chuckled, taking the key from him, “you're always at the shop though when I go there, will I even need a key?”

“I realize that, but it's like you said. It's a symbol. I just,” Aziraphale shrugged sheepishly, “I didn't want you to think we weren't on the same page, emotionally speaking. You just...my dear, you always seem so ahead of me when it comes to this stuff. But I trust you as well, with my whole life and being, and I thought you deserved to know that.”

Crowley listened silently to all this with a thoughtful expression, eyes flickering from the key to his angel as he let what he had said sink in. He then set the key down behind him on the coffee table next to his glasses, a small smile lighting up his face once again.

“I love you,” He sighed, cupping Aziraphale's jaw with his hands, and pressing his lips to his. The angel hummed softly in response and grabbed the demons jacket, pulling him into his lap as he did so. The kiss started off soft and sweet, full of love. But it quickly shifted into something more desperate as both men came to terms with the fact that they had yet again come very close to losing one another.

Crowley’s hands slid, one to the back of Aziraphale’s neck, the other moving to slide the angels jacket off as he nipped at his jaw. Aziraphale gasped, only releasing his grip on Crowley’s jacket to help him slide his own off. He then tugged on Crowley’s jacket as well, letting out a breathy laugh as the demon tore it off and threw it across the room before immediately returning his attention to Aziraphale’s jaw.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, placing his hands on the demons hip, he dug his fingers in with a small moan as Crowley now moved his focus to his neck, biting and following it up with a kiss to the same spot.

“Crow _ley_ ,” he said again, this time more insistent.

“What is it, angel?” Crowley murmured against his neck.

Aziraphale answered by digging a hand into Crowley’s hair, keeping one hand on his hip, and yanking him up to claim his lips again. Crowley groaned at the (ever-so-slight) rough treatment from his angel and melted into the kiss. The angel ran his tongue along his demons bottom lip, asking for entry.

As if he needed to ask at this point, but Aziraphale was nothing if not polite.

Crowley parted his lips, meeting Aziraphale’s tongue with his own. He moaned as he felt Aziraphale pull him closer by the hip so they were chest to chest. The only thing keeping them from being closer were their clothes, which Crowley was on the verge of miracling away if they didn’t get rid of them soon enough.

Aziraphale pulled the demons head back with the hand still tangled in Crowley’s hair, earning another wanton moan from the man as Aziraphale mouthed at his neck.

In Crowley’s mind he saw a flash of Aziraphale, lying on that dark cell floor, bleeding and chained. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on the feeling of Aziraphale’s mouth on his neck, on his tongue tracing lightly over his pulse. Crowley’s hands gripped Aziraphale’s shoulders tight as he tried to ground himself in the moment.

Aziraphale was here, he was safe, he didn’t need to go through another round of nightmares like before to come to terms with that. But the image kept flashing and the helpless feeling and anger sat in the pit of his stomach like a rock.

“Angel,” he said, eyes snapping open.

The angel pulled Crowley closer somehow, untangling his hands from his hair to pull his shirt collar aside to place a kiss on his clavicle. Crowley sighed at that, gripping his shoulders tighter.

But he needed the angels attention, even if this felt _fantastic_.

“ _Aziraphale_ ,” he said again. He shifted then, using his grip on the angels shoulders to pivot them so that Aziraphale was flipped flat on his back on the couch, Crowley straddling his hips as he hovered over him. The unexpected movement caused Aziraphale to loosen his grip on Crowley, his hands now lying by his head as he looked up at the demon with a perplexed look.

Crowley grabbed hold of the wrists to keep the hands from roaming so he could have a few seconds to clear his head.

“Crowley, is everything alright–“

“I thought I’d lost you again, you know,” Crowley said suddenly, eyes opening to look into Aziraphales, “I thought I'd never see you again.”

“Yes, I know, but like I said. We got through it–“

Crowley slid his hands from Aziraphale’s wrists into his open hands, lacing their fingers together as he shook his head.

“I know that. I know we got through it. But…” He sighed, looking away from the angels face. He hated this, hated trying to put these feelings into words.

“But...you were scared?” Aziraphale finished softly, an understanding, sad smile on his face.

“Was scared. Still scared.” Crowley grumbled, leaning down to hide his face in the angels neck, “Always scared I’ll lose you now.”

Aziraphale turned his head to place a kiss to Crowley’s hair, “I was scared too, my dear. I wasn't sure I'd see you again, either. Truthfully, I was ready to be burnt in the Hellfire if that meant you'd be oka–”

“ _Don't say that_ ,” Crowley hissed, head shooting up to look into his angels eyes again, “Don't say that to me, angel. I would _not_ have been okay, I wou–I would have–”

“Sh, darling, I know. _I know_. But I was worried you’d come rushing in head first and get captured like a fool. I couldn't have lived with myself if that happened.” He laughed softly, “And to my credit, I wasn’t entirely wrong.”

“It’s hard not to run in when you’re in trouble, you always get yourself in the _worst_ situations.”

“Mmm, yes, I do seem to have a knack for that. But you haven’t failed to rescue me yet, have you?” He slipped one hand out of Crowley's, but squeezed tighter with the other as he rested the free hand on Crowley's cheek. Crowley leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed as he breathed out a relaxed sigh at the gentle touch. “You,” Aziraphale whispered, “you, my perfect demon who rescued me and healed me, I love you. And no one in Hell and no one in Heaven and no one Earth can keep us apart.”

Crowley's eyes had opened at the word _perfect_ , his breath slightly hitched at the word.

“Now, come here, and let me show you properly how much I missed you.”

The demon ducked down then, lips crashing against his angels again. It was rough and desperate, teeth clicked at the meeting, and both men groaned in relief. Aziraphale's hand tangled again in Crowley's hair —it seemed to be his favorite place to be in these moments — as Crowley bit at Aziraphale's bottom lip and pulled, loving the light moan that escaped the angel when he did so. He trailed down Aziraphale's jaw and made his way down his neck as he slid one hand to his bow tie. He had been getting more adept at removing the silly thing, and managed to get it off in a matter of seconds. He threw that in the same direction he had tossed his own coat earlier, and made quick work of the buttons on Aziraphale's shirt. He bit down at the skin right below Aziraphale's clavicle and smirked at the wanton sound it drew out of him.

“ _Crowley_.”  
  
Crowley pressed a kiss to his angels lips again, chuckling when he felt him tugging on his shirt. He pulled it off and let it join the slowly growing pile of clothes.

Aziraphale ran his hands up the now bare chest, smiling sweetly at the demon. That smile, especially in these moments, always made Crowley's heart stop for a moment. It was sometimes too much to have all of the angels love directed his way like this, hard to accept he could even possibly deserve it. So he dipped down to kiss Aziraphale's chest instead, unable to handle that amazing smile for much longer.

“ _Oh_ ,” Aziraphale breathed as Crowley alternated from love bites to kisses to tracing figures with his tongue down him until he reached his hips, which he lightly grazed with his teeth. “You're perfect, Crowley.” He sighed as he felt his belt coming undone.

“M’not perfect,” Crowley murmured, kissing his angels hips as he unzipped his pants, but Aziraphale could hear the hitch in his throat again. Aziraphale opened his mouth again to insist that, yes, the demon was in fact quite perfect, but Crowley was suddenly kissing him again, silencing him before he could get another word in. He dipped his hands into Aziraphale's pants and briefs, gripping the angels length.

Aziraphale's head fell back with a long moan followed by a high pitched whine as Crowley flicked his thumb over the tip.

“Only perfect thing I see right now is you, angel,” Crowley whispered, placing a kiss on said angels jaw, “Perfect and safe and all mine for the taking,”

Aziraphale wanted to argue, wanted to tell Crowley how amazing he was, but it was always so hard to argue back when the demon was working him like this. He stroked him and sucked at his jaw, he ran a teasing finger along him and breathed such sweet things in his ear like it was second nature. It took all of Aziraphales focus to slip his own hand down and into the demons pants as well, surprising the demon when he wrapped his own hand around Crowley's hard cock.

“ _Oh, fuck, Aziraphale_ ,” Crowley's breath caught in his throat, and his hand stuttered on Aziraphale's dick. Aziraphale caught Crowley's open mouth in a passionate kiss as the two matched each other's rhythm.

“N–Need you inside of me, _now_ ,” Crowley gasped suddenly against Aziraphale's mouth.

Aziraphale hummed lightly at that, and nipped at Crowley's lip.

“Well, my dear,” he breathed into Crowley’s ear, his breath hot and heavy, “what's stopping you?”

Crowley responded with a small growl and, with an impatient snap of his fingers, both of their pants and respective undergarments were suddenly gone.

“I believe those were,” he said.

Aziraphale laughed and pulled Crowley down for a small kiss as he reached around and slowly slipped a miraculously lubed finger into his demon. Crowley groaned into the kiss, grabbing desperately onto the angel as he was worked open.

Once he had two fingers in, he crooked his fingers just so in a way that had Crowley crying out. Aziraphale had been getting enough practice in to know the right spots and he loved hearing the demons various whines and moans as he hit them. By the time he had worked a third finger in Crowley’s nails were digging into his shoulders as he growled into his ear for Aziraphale to _get on with it already._ Aziraphale laughed lightly, reaching up with his free hand to pull at Crowley’s hair, smiling at the moan that caused.

“Very bossy, my dear, very bossy indeed.”

Crowley moaned helplessly as Aziraphale mouthed at his neck, continuing to work him open with his fingers until the demon was a desperate, almost whining mess in his hands.

“Azira _phale_ ,” he whispered, “ _please_.”

The angel placed a kiss on the demons lips while murmuring against them, “Only because you asked so nicely.”

Crowley wanted to roll his eyes, but he would have been lying if he said this wasn’t all a huge turn on for him.

Finally, though, Aziraphale’s fingers slipped out and were soon replaced by his dick (also miraculously lubed, Crowley wondered if Heaven knew about these miracles) pressing gently into him. Crowley seemed to prefer being on top in the bedroom, in a way, so he lowered himself down, biting his lip, not wanting the whine he was holding back to slip out.

“Don’t you dare silence yourself, darling,” Aziraphale whispered, holding tight to Crowley’s hips as he rubbed circles into them with his thumbs, “Let me hear every perfect noise.”

Crowley couldn’t stop the moan that escaped him then, much to the angels delight. With his hands placed on Aziraphale’s shoulders he began to move, gasping as he came back down. Aziraphale met him with his own thrusts, matching his rhythm, fingers digging into the demons hip bones as he did so. They always worked so well together, especially at times like these. Crowley groaned and gasped out his angels name, falling forward to cling to him desperately and place fervent kisses along his neck.

“Perfect,” Aziraphale gasped, angling up to hit right where he knew would make Crowley see stars, “my beautiful, perfect Crowley.”

“Ange- _Aziraphale_ ,” Crowley whispered, on the verge of a whine, momentarily cut off as his head fell back when Aziraphale snapped his hips into him. “D-Dont. Don’t. I can’t take it- _ah fuck, yes_!”

The angel wrapped his arms around his demon, holding him flush against him as he thrust into him, peppering his neck with kisses as he continued the light praise, “But you can, _oh Crowley,_ you can. Because you are so good, and you’re _everything_. And,” Aziraphale said this with a quick nip at the neck, “I’ll stop telling you how perfect you are when _you_ stop running into danger for me.”

Crowley whined, a desperate needy noise as he buried his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, knowing full well that would never happen. On the one hand, the praise was hard to face, a hard pill to swallow when he spent centuries convincing himself he was anything but good. Anything but perfect.

But on the other hand, hearing the words come from Aziraphale lit a fire in him, a fire he wanted to let burn until it consumed him.

“You feel amazing, Crowley, like you were made for me- _oh, oh Heavens, Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale’s movements were becoming more erratic, and so were Crowley’s. The two were both painfully close.

The demon bit down on his angels neck, raking his nails down his chest as he whined out a final, desperate, “ _Aziraphale_.”

The angel was sure to grab him by the cheek so he could see his demon as he came, gasping out a choked noise. It was all Aziraphale needed to follow him through the climax, pulling the demon in for a messy kiss as he came inside of him.

As the two collapsed, Aziraphale lazily snapped the mess away (he didn’t want to move, nor did he want to ruin Crowley’s couch since it seemed like a fairly expensive one). Crowley meanwhile kissed along Aziraphale’s neck, placing a final one on his lips as he gently cupped his cheek. Aziraphale kissed back, holding him still by the back of his head, eyes fluttering closed. This kiss was like the one from earlier. Slow, loving, and perfect.

“Do not,” Crowley whispered after the kiss, resting his forehead on the angels, “let yourself get kidnapped or discorporated or anything ever again. Do you _swear_?”

Aziraphale laughed, it was light and breathless. “I’ll do my absolute best.”

Crowley rolled his eyes at that, letting himself nestle in finally, his head resting comfortably in the crook of the angels neck.

“When that toad was trying to goad me into coming for you–“ Crowley began, his eyes drifting shut.

“Which you did. He technically _did_ goad you into it.”

“Quiet, angel. When he was trying to tell me he had you, I wanted to act like I didn’t know you.”

“Mm, very smart, my dear.” Aziraphale murmured, wrapping his arms around Crowley, lightly running his hands through his hair.

“So, when he asked about you, I called you ‘Azuraphil’.” Crowley laughed lightly at his own joke.

“ _Azuraphil_?” His hands stopped playing with the hair immediately.

“And then Azeerafull, I believe. I put on a very convincing act, angel.”

“You called me _Phil_ , are you _serious_?”

Crowley snorted at the slightly offended tone the angel was giving him, “I had to seem like you were just some other angel! It was to save your life! I called Michael a wanker if that makes you feel any better.”

Aziraphale huffed dramatically, “I _suppose_ that helps.”

Crowley smiled and placed a small kiss to Aziraphale’s neck, loosely wrapping his arms around him.

“Thank you for my key, angel.”

The angel smiled and placed his own kiss to the top of Crowley’s head.

“And thank _you_ for mine.”

“G’night...Azuraphil.”

“I’m going to discorporate you myself, Crowley, I swear it. I will go fetch holy water right now.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Crowley said with a laugh, and shortly after Aziraphale joined him in the laughter. They settled in after the laughter died down. Crowley, nestled into his angels shoulder and Aziraphale resuming the light threading of fingers through his demons hair.

For the days to come both Crowley and Aziraphale would remember _this_ moment fondly and with love.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it.  
> You can find me at bexidot on tumblr where I'm dying over these two and this show in general :)


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